


Only Following Orders

by KorrohShipper



Series: Uniforms [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Married!Steggy, Office Dynamics, Peggy Carter is a boss, Porn Without Plot, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Smut, Steggy - Freeform, Steve Rogers is happy, Time Travel, Uniform Kink, wrote this instead of sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23028289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KorrohShipper/pseuds/KorrohShipper
Summary: If there was anything in this world he loved more, it was following orders from Peggy.“Yes, ma’am.” He was anything if not obedient for Peggy Carter.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Series: Uniforms [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655002
Kudos: 50





	Only Following Orders

**Author's Note:**

> A companion to Uniforms.
> 
> First time doing smut after reading so much of it you'd think I can write something better.

Late nights at the office was anything but sensual.

The empty bullpens, barely furnished offices, and dimly lit hallways of the newly opened SHIELD office in New Jersey wasn’t supposed to be appealing to visit, especially in an ungodly hour.

But Steve hasn’t seen his wife for over three weeks.

He had traveled through time and space to get back to the moment he is now and he wasn’t going to spend much of it away from her side, even if he’s probably just going to fall asleep on the couch inside her office.

Steve could have waited at their home, which was just a few minutes away from Camp Lehigh. But there was a need to see her, especially after a disappointing trek in the icy terrain of Russia that did not result in his rescue of his best friend who was still in the hands of Hydra.

If anything, Steve reasoned, he needed to see his wife to be reminded of the reason why he still keeps fighting, even if he’d just drowsily nod and mumble as she’d try to scan her way through the mountain of paperwork to weed out Hydra from the intelligence agency.

He thought he’d given up the war, the fighting, but there he was, answering the call to arms because he didn’t like bullies.

His dislike for them, it appeared, was perpetual regardless of what time period he lived in.

But in small moments like these, in the wee hours of the morning after, he just needed a push in the right direction or maybe a warm embrace to welcome him home—

Steve grunted, tugging his uniform.

He hated it. Howard did good with the design, a good reinforced micro tri-polymer fabric to protect him from the harsh weathers of the Russian climate. Only it clung too tight at his chest and it burned to the point where he wanted nothing more than to claw at it and tear the damn uniform away from his body.

That or maybe he just went too long without sleep.

His feet padding all the way towards the end of the hall, where light streamed through a frosted window of Peggy’s office, he fought a yawn that strangled its way to his mouth.

Steve could feel his bones ache with weariness.

He wanted to rest. Or at least, he wanted to be wherever Peggy was.

With a gentle knock on the doors, Steve nudged it open with his free shoulder, body still sore from an altercation he had with a Hydra outpost in the middle of that snowy wasteland, when he finally saw her.

The fact that he went three weeks without so much as seeing his wife finally processed in his mind. Without _touching_ his wife.

He was still clawing at the stealth leather straps of his uniform when he caught Peggy’s attention.

The usual impeccable get-up she had was evidently worn down by the time she spent in office—her pristine hair was messily bundled up in a bun, stray strands of hair framing her face, her blazer was tossed aside, her sleeves rolled up all the way to her shoulders and the few top buttons were left undone.

She was in the middle of an angry mumble at messily filled out field report from her time spent in Brazil, looking like she was ready to rain down an unholy hell on the incompetent agent who thought it was alright to pass half-cooked reports that didn’t get the job done right.

It was already creeping along the early hours of the morning and still. Peggy wouldn’t care if the agent was asleep, she’d yank them out of sleep and dress them down for the single most sloppiest report she’s ever seen, and she’s been writing them on the go back in the war when they were cutting off Hydra heads.

On a normal day, on every other day, Steve would have had half a mind to gently call out her attention and tell her he got home safely. Like a normal person.

But seeing her like that, in her element, dressed like that— _or seemingly in the process of deconstructing her attire, one article of clothing at a time_ —left him with thoughts that would have been enough to make the young soldier he once was in 1945 blush a shade darker than beat red.

Steve would have had more self control had he not, a.) been away in Russia, b.) gone three weeks without so much as hearing her voice, and c.) God, she looks mighty hot when she’s ready to give the biggest dressing down to an agent.

Then, another thought entered his mind: it’s been three weeks since he’d last _been_ with Peggy—

_Teeth tearing at skin, a sloppy trail of teeth and gasps marking a scorching, never ending heat on their bare flesh. Her lipstick was smudged, probably staining his skin already, but he didn’t care; in fact, he liked it, having a small mark that let Peggy claim him as hers_

_Wet skin slapped against each other, and his eyes went wide, body frigidly still and their breaths became more rampant and erratic and_ —

Steve was stopped tearing away from his uniform, just barely aware of anything else but the increasingly darkening look on Peggy’s eyes.

The door clicked behind him, heart still pounding in his chest and he was still trying to rid himself of those thoughts because the last thing Peggy needs is him getting hard and—

Peggy kissed him, pressing her body against his, pinning him against the wall, straddling him as he was already hard and aching for her. “Clothes off, soldier.” Her breath hitched and he smirked against her lips.

If there was anything in this world he loved more, it was following orders from Peggy.

“Yes, ma’am.” He was anything if not obedient for Peggy Carter.

His lips found hers again, fingers erratically but accurately fumbling with the straps and buttons of his uniform, his skin begging for a release from the confining fabric, desperate for the feel of his skin against hers.

With a loud click, the top went off and Steve was hit by a moment of coldness. But whatever chill washed over him was soon replaced by a manic heat that burned through him like no other.

It was with that realization, as he turned them over, pinning Peggy against her wall, when he decided that she was wearing far too much clothes.

The first he got rid of was her blouse. The smaller buttons had been a nuisance, the fact that his fingers were still numb from the continuous exposure to sub-negative temperature didn’t help—the only fitting remedy was simply tearing it off.

A small squeak of protest sounded from Peggy’s lips, a half-hearted mumble of, “I liked that blouse.” Steve couldn’t really bring himself to care, not when his wife was there, hot and wet and ready for him.

“I’ll get you a new one.” It was a never-ending cycle, really. He’d buy her a new one, he’d tear said new blouse apart, the cycle goes on.

Hands snaking towards her thigh, his fingers gripped just as the edge and pulled her up to him, barely containing the strength in him from tearing and doing away with her skirt.

Rutting against each other, breathing already far too heavily, Steve’s lips trailed down from her mouth, leaving traces of his kisses towards a spot of nerves just below her ear. A marriage of sucking and nipping had Peggy weaving her fingers into his hair, pulling him in with every kiss.

“Steve!” she moaned, a guttural, throaty sob that almost came undone as she steadied herself on his hold, wrapping her legs around his waist. With a free hand, his fingers navigated around her waist, searching for the—found it!

The sound of a zipper filled the room and helped Peggy shimmy out of the offensive piece of cloth, letting it pool to the ground along with the other discarded clothes that wouldn’t be needed until much, _much_ later.

“God, Peg,” His hand found its way towards her inner thigh. Nimble fingers made fast work, he could already feel her hot and ready for him as he inserted two fingers in, her body anticipating and shivering with each touch.

A moment of fluidity came at first, shattering the heated reverie. “I don’t—” he panted, heavily, hand still inside her, “—I don’t have a rubber.” He admitted with a flush because if that’s not what she wanted, then he needed to stop.

Peggy responded the way only he could have expected her to respond. “Oh, to bloody hell with the rubber.” She breathed out, crying out in respite as she clenched around his hand, going limp in his arms.

Reason danced in his mind for a short while before Steve rested his forehead against hers. “Couch?” he asked, breathing out heavily.

Peggy shook her head, planting a kiss just on the corner of his lips. “No,” her chest heaved up and down and Steve could already feel, through the bra, the stiff and pert nipples. Internally, Steve agreed with her decision—the couch was comically small for him, let alone the both of them. “The desk.”

He glanced at the said desk and frowned. “Your stuff—”

“Crickey O’Reilly, just sweep it away!”

Carrying her towards the desk, hand supporting her ass, Steve swept the desk clear with his arm and laid Peggy on the surface. He fumbled with the button and zipper of his pants when he lost his footing and got in his knee.

It was only then when the scent had hit him and Steve, unable to stop, trailed kisses into her inner thigh. Peggy threw her head back in anticipation as his kisses drew closer and nearer. Her panties were already soaked, and with a free hand, he tore it apart by the seams, letting the dip of his nose prod before his lips met her core.

“Fuck, Peg,” he cursed. The familiar taste of her sent him on a dizzying spell, too drunk on her as he nipped and sucked, reverently mapping down the topography of her sex. He could do it all day, ravishing her, especially when he’s rewarded by the moans of approval from Peggy.

Only, she tugged him up, still panting, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Wonderful and all that, my darling,” she said pulling him in closer as she pushed down the pants from his hips, leaving him wonderfully bare for her to see.

“Yeah?” he couldn’t help but feel smug at the small hitch in her voice. He did that.

“But inside me, soldier. _Now_.” She ordered, aligning herself, rutting against him as he grew even harder if that was possible. Steve held unto her by the waist and drove into her, forgoing the gentle and slow for something to sate both their nerves of the fire that pooled in their stomachs.

It appears, he wasn’t the only one who was worked up with not seeing each other.

Steve pushed himself deep inside her, driving himself with into her with a senseless, sloppy kiss before withdrawing only to thrust in even deeper, the sound of wet skin slapping into one another in a series of endless, unadulterated throaty moans.

Their lips met in a frantic desperation, a need to be closer that was never satisfied. Steve suddenly felt grateful for the person who designed Peggy’s office, particularly the one who decided to bolt down the desk to the ground.

Had it not been bolted down, the desk would have already been slamming into the wall.

His knees bucked down, angling himself better as he pulled out, just at the tip, before driving back in, earning a grunt of approval from Peggy, a breathless gasp as he entered her again and again and again.

The air around them began to shift, gone was the papery, husky scent of the files and documents and the faint trace of both coffee and tea that lingered in the halls—it was replaced by something stronger, a balanced mix of tangy sweat warring with unmistakable hit of sex that hung just in the furniture.

Slowly, the timing became more erratic, the shouts far louder. There were probably already bright red lines scarring his back from how Peggy clung to his back, digging the very nails and tearing at the fiber of his skin.

He’d feel that in the shower in the morning. Not that he minded, of course. A part of him thinks that Peggy might feel a tad bit smug seeing her ministrations.

His breathing became more shallow, each breath became harder to take in as the rhythm they’ve built between their bodies slowly fell out of pace, the sound of wet skin slapping against one another grew faster, more rapid.

In an instant, Peggy cried out, drawing him closer, near, shuddering in the high of her bliss. Her legs curled his waist, unwilling to let him go, a stray streak of tear leaving her eye, drawing his ear to her lips. “Oh, God, Steve.” She breathed out, pressing her lips, once immaculately stained with an even layer of her Montezuma Red, and kissed the side of his head, a track of his sweat imprinted on her cheek.

Unwilling to stop, Steve continued with the thrusts, driving inside of her even as she clamped around him. Her fingers wandered to his face, framing his gaze and zeroed him back to her. “Come for me, my darling,” she crooned, barely whispering out the words.

That had done him.

His knees bucked in finality and his eyes widened. He felt himself empty, filling her in upon her command and brought to a lingering stop, still buried deep inside her.

Steve felt a different kind of cold. Fingers shaking with his chest shivering with each breath. And Peggy—“This isn’t the least bit appropriate.”

For a moment, Steve wondered if all the time he’s spent would have reversed the effects of the serum. He’s never had this hard a time breathing even when he was fighting Thanos. Peggy, on the other hand, looked incredibly pleased with herself with that smug smile.

Unable to help the feeling, he grinned back. Hands firmly on her waist, he languidly pulled out with a heaving chest, resting his sweat-addled hair on her chest, just at the valley of her breasts, feeling finally at home.

“Only following orders.”


End file.
